My Mate Bill by Ironbark (G. Herbert Gibson)

| No TrackBacks
That's his saddle on the tie-beam, an' them's his spurs up there
On the wall-plate over yonder, you kin see's they ain't a pair.
The "daddy" of all the stockmen as ever come must'rin here --
Killed in the flamin' mallee, yardin' a scrub-bred steer!

They say as he's gone to Heaven, an' shook off his worldly cares,
But I can't sight Bill in a halo set up on three blinded hairs.
In Heaven! what next, I wonder, for strike me pink an' blue,
I savey what in thunder they'll find for Bill to do.

He'd never make one o' them angels with faces as white as chalk,
All wool to the toes, like hoggets, an' wings like a eagle 'awk;
He couldn't 'arp for apples, his voice 'as tones as jarred,
An' he'd no more ear than a bald-faced bull, or calves in a brandin'-yard.

He could sit on a buckin' brumbie like a nob in an easy cheer,
An' chop his name with a green-hide fall on the flank of flyin' steer,
He could show the saints in glory the way that a fall should drop,
But, sit on a throne? -- not William -- unless they could make it "prop."

If the Heav'nly hosts got "boxed" now, as mobs most always will,
Why, who'd cut 'em out like William, or draft on the camp like Bill?
An 'orseman 'ud find it awkward, at first, with a push that flew,
But, blame my cats, if I knows what else they'll find for Bill to do.

He mightn't freeze to the seraphs, or chum with the cherubim,
But if ever them seraph-johnnies get "pokin' it," like, at him,
Well if there's hide in Heaven, an' silk for to make a lash,
He'll yard the lot in the Jasper Lake in a blinded lightnin'-flash!

It's hard if there ain't no cattle, but p'raps they'll let him sleep,
An' wake him up at the Judgment for to draft then goats an' sheep.
It's playin' it low on William, but p'rhaps he'll buckle-to,
Just to show them high-toned seraphs what a mallee-man kin do.

If they saddles a big-boned angel -- with a turn o speed, of course --
As can spiel like a four-year brumbie, an prep like an old camp-horse,
If they puts Bill up with a snaffle, an' a four or five-inch spur,
An' eighteen foot o' green-hide for to chop the blinded fur,
He'll draft them blamed angoras in a way, it's safe to swear,
As'll make them toney seraphs sit back on their thrones an' stare.

First published
in The Bulletin, 28 October 1893 and in the same magazine on 23-30 December 1986;
and later in
The Sun (Kalgoorlie), 20 May 1900;
The Southern Cross Times, 1 December 1900;
Old Bush Songs: Composed and Sung in the Bushranging, Digging and Overlanding Days edited by A. B. "Banjo" Paterson, 1905;
Australian Bush Songs and Ballads edited by Will Lawson, 1944;
From the Ballads to Brennan edited by T. Inglis Moore, 1964;
Complete Book of Australian Folk Lore edited by Bill Scott, 1976;
Old Ballads from the Bush edited by Bill Scott, 1987; and
On the Track with Bill Bowyang: With Australian Bush Recitations edited by Dawn Anderson, 1991-1992.

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL:

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on October 28, 2011 6:59 AM.

Spring Rejuvenation by Zora Cross was the previous entry in this blog.

Grey-Eye: A Bleating by Will Lawson is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.


Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en